The A Team
by Donavvin Nick
Summary: Oneshot-Human Malec: songfic: Ed Sheeran's The A Team; Alec is a prostitute with nothing to live for, until Magnus finds him on the street. K for language and sexual themes. Fluff! Just Magnus and Alec.


**Hi guys, Donavvin here. Been a rough few months. I just love Ed Sheeran though. Hope you like. :) EDIT: Wow, you guys are awesome. Awh. But, despite people''s pleas I keep getting, I probably won't make this anything more than it already is. I tend to ruin my stories when they're more than one shots. Thanks for your love, guys!  
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_White lips, pale face_

_Breathing in snowflakes_

_Burnt lungs, sour taste_

It's not snowing yet, but it ought to be with how dark the sky is. Alec shivers so violently his teeth clank together painfully. The rush of air that hits him as he opens the door of the man's apartment doesn't help matters, either.

Alec is painfully cold.

_Light's gone, day's end_

_Struggling to pay rent_

The door slams behind him, the John shutting it, and Alec is alone. He starts off to his flat without thinking. It's his instinct, the only place he can call home. It will take some energy to get across town, but the John made him some eggs, the first proper meal he's eaten in days. So Alec can make it.

_Long nights, strange men_

He leaves the building and heads east, all the way home, through the streets of New York. It's crowded, just another Monday morning. Everyone has headed to work, or is on the way. Alec is cold, missing his warm blanket, the one he often takes with him for shifts, because New York in the winter can be brutal. All he's got is his ripped shirt and shorts. He looks like a prostitute. Everyone knows on the street, but they say nothing, and Alec just keeps walking.

_And they say_

_She's in the Class A Team_

_Stuck in her daydream_

_Been this way since 18_

When he's finally made it in, he sighs with relief and wraps his blanket around him. It smells of perfume, cigarettes, and the edges are burnt from when he accidentally lit it, trying to light his pipe. It's bound to happen, he thinks, when you're too high to think straight. He sits on the dirty mattress with no cover, and smokes a cigarette, looking out the dirty window. And when he's finished it, he dumps the end into an empty soda can, heading to the bathroom. In the stained mirror he's tried so hard to clean, Alec sees himself for the first time in a few days.

_But lately her face seems_

_Slowly sinking, wasting_

_Crumbling like pastries_

Alec was beautiful once, and he knows it. His hair hasn't been washed, and it's too long. It touches his shoulders. His deep blue eyes are tinged with red, from the fatigue of being out, or from being high, he can't tell. His skin seems even paler; winter does that. He's lost a few pounds that he could stand to gain, and the bones in his face are too pronounced now. But none of this registers with Alec long enough for him to care. He takes the scissors on the counter, takes a breath, and then he begins to cut.

_And they scream_

_The worst things in life come free to us_

_Cause we're just under the upper hand_

_And go mad for a couple of grams_

His hair falls into the sink, so he pushes it into the box he uses for a trash. Alec was never good at much of anything, he thinks, but his hair could look much worse for the sleep he hasn't gotten. It's choppy and uneven in the back, but short and his bangs are lopsided in a way he could argue was on purpose. It wasn't. Alec feels as if nothing in his life really has a purpose at all.

_And she don't want to go outside tonight_

Alec sighs, takes his five one-hundred dollar bills and shoves them back into his jeans he's put on. They're stained and dirty, with blood and other things he'd rather not think about. He heads out the door again, this time with his blanket and cigarettes. Alec hasn't been in New York long enough to know the names of the streets he's on, but he does know he's in Time Square, and the lights are enough to show it. He wanders out to find a dealer. He'd rather be high than think about how he was already hungry again.

_And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland_

_Or sells love to another man_

But Alec doesn't get high with the cocaine he's just acquired. He's exhausted, hungry, and sad. And those things are so commonplace for Alec he wonders why now is different. He sits on the edge of the sidewalk, away from the street, and holds out his hands. Today, this afternoon, it will snow. Or rain, from the sounds the sky is making.

_It's too cold outside_

_For angels to fly_

Alec watches the people walk, because no matter what time it is, Time Square is always buzzing, and Alec likes this. He likes watching people because people fascinate him and if given the option, he'd love to write books about what he sees. Life usually is a little more cruel than he intends it to be. And it was probably his fault, the cocaine, the sex for money, which he could make a living on, save the fact he spends it on drugs. Alec doesn't dwell on it. Often he's too high to think anyway. And when he's not, he watches the people, asks for change, but doesn't beg. Nobody likes a beggar.

_For angels to fly_

The wind blows, and Alec shivers again, so hard his teeth rattle, and his short hair doesn't help. He remembers why he hasn't cut it, but he can't shower, and the less hair the less there is to be dirty. He wants a warm bath.

_Ripped gloves, raincoat_

_Tried to swim and stay afloat_

The shirt and jacket and jeans he's got on, with the big hole in the knee, don't keep him warm. He's sure every person walking by can hear his teeth clanking together. He keeps holding out his hands. Hope. That's all he's got.

_Dry house, wet clothes_

A few pennies land in his palms, the zinc cold and recognizable. Alec doesn't mind the cold of the coins. He's not sure what he can get with two pennies, but he puts them in his pocket anyway. Alec holds out his hands again, and keeps watching the people. One man in particular captures his attention. He's got bright rainbow spikes for his hair, and a pink shirt. His pants hug his long legs, and they're black, held up by a bright belt. But this is not what captures Alec's attention. He's tall, and got pale skin. His eyes cast upwards and are a strange shade of green. And they catch Alec's bright blue ones. He stops, his features downcast. Alec doesn't like to be looked down on, but Alec figures he can't help it, because Alec is sitting. So he stands, holds out his hands, mesmerized.

_Loose change, bank notes_

_Weary-eyed, dry throat_

_Call girl, no phone_

The man looks back at Alec.

"You for sale?" he asks, his voice much softer than Alec imagined it would be. Without thinking, he nods. Because no, he wasn't right now, but Alec figures he needs the money, and this man was one of the few attractive people Alec would get to service. Usually, they weren't young, or good looking. The man holds out his hand, and Alec hesitantly takes it. It's warm. Alec would like so much to be warm.

_And they say_

_She's in the Class A Team_

_Stuck in her daydream_

_Been this way since 18_

They walk fast, because the man was long legs, and it's a struggle for Alec to keep up, while holding his blanket. He puts it on his shoulder instead.

"What's your name?" the man asks. Alec doesn't look at him. Instead he looks at the people around them, sweeping by.

"Alec."

"Mine's Magnus," he replies quickly. Alec finds that he shouldn't really care what this man's name is. But he cares. So he smiles. And Alec wonders why Magnus is bothering with the pleasantries of names, but it doesn't really matter. They walk all the way out of Time Square, away from the lights and the billboards. Alec doesn't know where they're going, but he doesn't ask. He finds he'd really like to be high. He thumbs the bag of cocaine in his pocket like a good-luck charm. And at this thought, he almost laughs at how pathetic he is.

_But lately her face seems_

_Slowly sinking, wasting_

_Crumbling like pastries_

They arrive at some apartments, and Magnus lives on the second floor. Alec is exhausted, but he makes it up the stairs on his own, and Magnus unlocks the door just as the sky begins to dump rain. The apartment smells like cinnamon and candles, and Alec is sure he's never smelled anything better in his whole life. He wanders inside, and can tell the heater is on. He hasn't had heat or running water to his flat in a few months. Magnus shuts the door and Alec realizes the dream is over. He turns around. Magnus towers over him, but not as much as he thought on the street. Still, Alec takes a step back.

"It's a hundred an hour, or five hundred for the night," he tells Magnus, who nods. But Alec doesn't understand the lamenting look that he receives. Magnus goes off to get the money.

Alec likes his hot pink couch, but doesn't sit on it, because he's dirty. He probably smells, and rubs his arms self-consciously.

_And they scream_

_The worst things in life come free to us_

Magnus returns, hands Alec another five one-hundreds. Alec shoves the bills into his pocket with the change, and starts to take off his shirt. Magnus sighs.

"I didn't say I wanted sex. Put your shirt back on." Alec does as he's told, confused.

"What do you want, then?" He's afraid of the answer.

"To do the right thing, for a night," Magnus says sadly. "You look like you could use a shower. It's down the hall, to the right. Take your time. I'll make coffee. Or tea, if you want tea." Alec's eyes are so huge that he can feel how big they've grown.

"C-c-offee is f-fine," he stutters, and shuffles down the hall. He's relieved at the sight of the shower.

_Cause we're just under the upper hand_

_And go mad for a couple grams_

He gets in, discarding his clothes, turning the heat up all the way. It burns and Alec decides that's okay. He's warm. His pale, marred skin is turning red with the heat, so he turns it down.

He must be showering for an hour at least, because Magnus knocks, just to check on him. Alec blushes at this, but he can't say why.

_And she don't want to go outside tonight_

When he gets out, he's told to take the robe hanging on the door. It's soft, like his blanket used to be. He wanders out in his bare feet, clean hair dripping on the wood floor. Magnus is in the little corner of a kitchen, holding two steaming mugs. He hands one to Alec. The ceramic is warm in his hands.

"I dunno how you like it," he says, and motions to the sugar and cream. Alec's only had coffee once, and it had sugar in it. For the sake of nostalgia, he adds some sugar. And then the two men sit on the couch.

"What're you doing?" Alec asks after a minuet of silence, when they both sit, cross-legged, facing each other. Magnus looks away for a second, at his cooling coffee.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you bought a prostitute for a night and your not even going to have sex with him. You're just…being nice. And I don't understand what the point of-"

"Despite your reservations, Alec, I'm not a good guy. I've done bad things. I'm a bad guy. I'm trying to rectify my situation. You looked, cold, and sad. And alone." Alec flinches because the words hit home. "And I know what it's like to be alone." Magnus finally looks at Alec. "You're beautiful, has anyone told you?" he wonders aloud, reaching over. Alec flinches away, but Magnus just hesitates. He brushes the hair out of Alec's eyes.

"No." Alec almost forgets the question.

"They ought to." Alec would like to be high. He reaches for his pocket, realizing his coke is in his jeans. Magnus understands the look in his eyes.

_And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland_

_Or sells love to another man_

_It's too cold outside_

_For angels to fly_

"Your drugs, they're on top of the dryer. I should've figured." Alec winces.

"Maybe you should just fuck me, and I should just leave," Alec suggests, but as he speaks, he grips his mug tighter. Magnus cocks his head sideways, his hair flopping over a little. Alec thinks this is sort of cute and adorable and he wants to crawl into the man's arms. But he won't.

_An angel will die_

_Covered in white_

"Maybe," is all Magnus says.

"So, why don't you?" Alec snaps back, now frustrated by the silence. He can hear the washing machine humming.

"Because you're already broken enough. I think maybe you need some love that's gentle. I think you've been thrown around too much. And me fucking you and making you leave, that's not love. It's certainly not gentle." Magnus keeps his voice steady, and tears prick at Alec's eyes.

"You don't know me. You don't know what I need," he retorts. Magnus sets his cup on the floor.

"You're right. I don't. Tell me. Tell me what you need," he pleads. His eyes are big and beautiful. Alec puts his cup down too. Tears leak out of his eyes, and he wipes them, but not quickly enough. Magnus touches his knee, and the simple contact through the soft fabric of the robe opens the floodgate.

_Closed eye_

_And hoping for a better life_

_This time, we'll fade out tonight_

_Straight down the line_

Alec cries. Alec cries harder than he did the first time he sold himself to a stranger. He cries harder than he did going through a withdrawal. He cries harder than he did when his landlord cut off his water, and his heat. He cries and Magnus holds him tight, combs through his wet hair, soothing him as much as he can. Magnus is warm and his hands are loving and this only makes Alec cry harder. And when his tears finally quiet, Magnus carries him to the bedroom in the back of the apartment, sets him on the soft, bright yellow comforter. He digs out some lounge pants and a shirt that would fit Alec if he had any meat on him. Magnus kisses Alec's forehead and leaves him to dress while he puts Alec's clothes in the dryer.

_But lately her face seems_

_Slowly sinking, wasting_

_Crumbling like pastries_

The door shuts. Alec wipes the last of his tears, and sheds the robe.

_They scream_

_The worst things in life come free to us_

He goes to the bathroom and looks at himself in the clean mirror. Alec was beautiful once. He knows it. His deep blue eyes are tinged with red from tears, and he wipes them, frustrated. But it doesn't change anything. His face is sunken in still, and he's probably too thin. His ribs protrude from his scarred chest, and his knees feel weak. In the decent lighting he can see that his hair looks awful, even when clean and soft. He's cut it himself and done a shit job.

_And we're all under the upper hand_

_Go mad for a couple of grams_

_And we don't want to go outside tonight_

He runs cold water, splashes it on his face. Alec doesn't need to be high, for once. He goes back into the bedroom and puts on the clean outfit. He hasn't worn clean clothes in long enough that he can appreciate the way they feel. Soft. Warm. Clean. Magnus knocks, and Alec opens the door. Magnus gives him a comical, lop-sided smile.

"Hi. How do you feel?" Alec wraps his arms around himself.

"Good," he tells him, his voice soft. It's the truth. Alec feels pretty good.

"Good," Magnus repeats, ruffling the younger boy's hair. Alec is eighteen, and Magnus can't be much older, but he feels ten years old. He bats the hand away and smiles. They go down the hall, but Alec turns when he sees his drugs he snatches them off the dryer, and then goes to the bathroom, and dumps the bag into the toilet. He closes his blue eyes and flushes it.

The fear that comes with withdrawal will hit later. He knows it. But it doesn't matter so much right now.

_And in a pipe we fly to the Motherland_

_Or sell love to another man_

Magnus waits in the kitchen for Alec.

"Maybe you want something to eat?" He nods a little too fast, and blushes. Magnus smiles wistfully and turns to the fridge. "Um…it's almost dinner time. I can make some soup…or a salad, or cut up some fruit…"

"Soup is fine," Alec manages. "Thank you." He receives a stunning grin for his effort. And Alec decides if he's allowed, he'll stay, because this man that's being so nice to him could easily be fallen in love with. And Alec decides there and then that if it happens, he'll let himself fall.

_It's too cold outside_

_For angels to fly_

He sits at Magnus's cute little card table, cooling his soup, while Magnus watches. His hair has lost it's spike, and now it falls on either side of his face, still bright and colorful. Alec finds this almost as fascinating as Magnus seems to find Alec eating his soup fascinating. Though Alec isn't quite sure what could be so interesting about him eating. So he asks. And Magnus answers.

"You're just kind of beautiful." Alec's never been called beautiful, not like that. He's heard wolf whistles aimed in his direction. Johns have called him "sexy". But Alec decides he doesn't like those words. Words like hot and sexy mean rough sex. Sex that hurts.

_For angels to fly_

Beautiful. He likes beautiful better. Magnus cleans his dishes, and Alec turns on the TV. He doesn't notice what's on, only that Magnus is holding him close, and touching his hair, and kissing his face in every place that he deems fit, but only after he asks Alec for permission. Alec hasn't been in control of his body in a long time, and he figures Magnus knows it, because he asks again when Alec automatically says yes.

"Can I kiss your nose?" Magnus whispers in Alec's ear. Alec nods and turns his head slightly. Magnus plants a kiss on his nose. Affectionate, just sweet enough that if Alec walked away right now, it wouldn't mean anything. "Can I kiss your jaw?" Alec sighs contently a little as he nods, and then receives a peck on his jaw bone. Magnus repeats circles with his lips around Alec's face, and Alec purrs like a kitten, not used to the affection, but enjoying it all the same.

_Angels to fly, fly, fly_

"You look exhausted," Magnus observes as Alec yawns. He is. Every part of him aches for sleep. "Why don't you stay a while?" Magnus asks, just a little bit shy. "I paid for a full night." At this Alec chokes out a laugh and nods.

"Yeah. Alright." He gets up and wobbles, so Magnus catches him.

"I mean it," he murmurs in the younger boy's ear, "stay. For a while. As long as you want. I'll cook for you, and do your laundry." Alec is too tired to protest this idea, and his blanket is already here anyway. So he nods.

"Yeah," he repeats, yawning again. "But I've only got one pair of clothes, so the laundry argument doesn't help your case." Magnus gives a warm chuckle.

"Maybe not. But I'd like you to stay, Alec. Really. You deserve better anyway."

This makes Alec pause and straighten up. "I dunno about that," he says. Magnus sighs.

"Well I do."

Alec reminds himself that he would stay, given the chance. So he leans into Magnus, because he's warm and kind and because Alec is having trouble standing himself. The older man with the funny-colored hair and the kind green eyes picks him up and carries him to the bedroom with the bright yellow sheets. Alec curls up in the soft blankets, not even missing his own burned, old, disgusting one. Magnus goes to close the door.

"Wait," Alec protests, sitting up as much as he can. "You can sleep in here," he begins, "if you want. You shouldn't have to sleep on the couch."

"It's no trouble," Magnus promises, but it must have been the lonely desperation in Alec's eyes, that he himself could feel, because Magnus sighed and took off his shirt, shut the door, and crawled into the bed.

"Thank you," Alec whispers in his ear, holding him close, because it feels nice to have company, and he feels more wanted than he ever did before.

"You're welcome," Magnus replies in the same volume. Alec falls asleep, Magus combing through his soft hair. And for once, Alec hopes he wakes up tomorrow.

_Or angels to die…_

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**This is my first one in a while. Please review, tell me what you think! -Donavvin  
**


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